Empty Shells
by Shadowfang3000
Summary: "The strangest actions can sometimes be the most loving." - After receiving a mysterious letter from a friend of a friend, Graves is tasked with looking after the Loose Cannon of Piltover for a few days. However, the distant and torn man is met with a challenge as he tries to keep the hyperactive girl engaged.


(A/N): I find the best way to start the new year is by having writer's block on several other stories and suddenly writing this one up out of nowhere! xD

Anywho, I'm not entirely sure where this shipping came to mind from but for some reason I think Graves X Jinx could actually work quite well. Must be a contrast thing, with Graves being this burly bloke of a few words and Jinx being the most talkative thing alive since Talky Toaster from Red Dwarf!

I've been on an extensive Graves jag recently for some reason, and I don't quite know why. As for Jinx? Well, a chum of mine joked that despite my dislike for her I secretly have a Tsundere crush on her and… It kind of developed from there :l

Just a note that this is entirely against the continuity of League of Legends canon, although to be honest the continuity is so muddled that it doesn't really matter. I doubt it'll really matter though, considering this is just a bit of cute dialogue between the two :3

Let's hope I don't balls this up again, because I have a hell of a lot of fics I need to get done... And this AN is far too short for comfort, so I'm going to extend it by typing this critique of it :P

Warning: Spelling errors, some bad language, OOC characters, butchery of established canon, and me trying to write for a character as peculiar and different from my usual as a holiday to South-East Burma.

**Empty Shells**

_One long year._

_Three-hundred and sixty-five action packed days._

_A large number of hours that he couldn't be bothered to calculate._

Malcolm Graves had never really been that much of an optimistic man, even before his spineless ex-partner in crime Twisted Fate decided to sell him off for a dime. He wasn't even that much of an optimist whenever ma cooked instead of pa – sure dinner would taste a little bit less like burnt Yordle, but it still wouldn't be that good.

_The pint was always half empty in his eyes._

So imagine his surprise today, a full rotation after his daring escape from the brutal prisons of Zaun – his syndicate was recovering, and felt much tighter knit than his previous band of ex-vets, drug addicts and rowdy kids desperate to be the anti-hero of someone's life story. Money was rolling in faster than an armordillo on roller-blades, and suddenly lady luck weren't smiling for his lanky old shark of a friend. Karma could be a harsh bastard at times, especially to those who played the players twice over.

_And for once, he was kind of pleased with his life._

As funny as it sounded, Graves didn't break the law for some perverse pleasure of disobeying the rules. He did it because he valued the adventure of it – honour among thieves, which was much firmer than other vows and bonds. He protected his boys like his own sons, and he often thought – often hoped – that they saw him as their big pa. Graves still had his signature boomstick at his side at all times, and he'd always train with his men at the firing range.

_Yet he hadn't killed for months on end._

_That was a damned good thing for a dead man walking._

Idly he stretched into his leather coat's pocket, the expensive garment laying draped across his office chair. It was bloody life-threatening for the once quality and springing collar, but he'd always been too lazy to go through all the recommended procedures – hanging it, drying it, bagging it and singing rituals every day and night. A coat was a coat; they didn't need to be handled like they were made of damp cardboard.

_You'd think Piltover would prioritise this gold mine._

"_Self-springing coat collars, buy yours today!"_

Graves plucked out a roll and lit it with experienced gusto, tossing his packet of fresh Ionian matches back onto his desk. He'd always been a casual two-a-day kind of bloke who smoked when the time called, but he assumed that after so many years behind bars without his daily smokes his body just wanted to catch up. Even after a year free, it was always a bit embarrassing leaving the office twice a day to stock up on more fags.

_He'd dodged enough in prison, mind you. Quite literally._

Taking a drag and letting the emerging smoke gently float into an abundant mist, he flicked through some papers and got to work with pen in hand. It was an amusing thought to consider, but being the head of a crime syndicate was practically identical to being the head of the Police force: Lots of paperwork, lots of talks, and not enough dosh for a day's pay. He often found himself wondering about the Police chief. If it wasn't for the rivalry their jobs required, they'd probably get along pretty damn well.

To be brutally honest he had absolutely no right to complain with where he'd gotten in a year. Most cons would slink away pathetically after escaping the chains of democracy and never show their faces to mortals ever again. He'd found a relatively calm and stable place once more doing what he loved, and he couldn't be more pleased with what he had as his own.

_He'd been given a second chance, and he was going to make the most of it._

"Oi!" a squeaky, anti-social voice screeched with all of the civility of a rabid hound. The laboriously well painted oak of his office door whined in panic as a stick-thin arm and fist hammered away at its frame. "You in there, old guy?!"

Graves rubbed his damp forehead irritably, the sweat of frustration already making a break for it before the fire truly started. He briefly wondered if the "pull" sign was still perched atop the door, but then quickly began to think whether or not the goofy girl behind it could even _read_ coherently. He mumbled with his thick drawl, his roll wiggling between his lips. "Pull it, lady."

_She did eventually, surprisingly enough. After one hell of a drama performance, of course._

"Jeez, why the _hell_ didn't you help?" she spat, closing the door with a light press of her bottom. She folded her arms, pouting in a childish yet sadly honest manner. "Had to work it out myself! Stupid damn doors…" she grumbled. He could see the sign behind her from here; on the floor, in pieces.

"I told you." Graves muttered in reply, sparing her a stern glance from his papers usually rationed for confronting demons. It was the sort of stare renowned for causing the faint-hearted to burst into flames, yet she stared back with her challenging crimson daggers-for-eyes; unscathed. "You just didn't listen, is all."

The girl puffed out her chest defensively, impolitely scraping her muddied boots across the warm carpet floor. "You're _so_ boring!" she growled, hopping on the spot energetically. Graves often wondered if the daft girl ever stopped fidgeting, yet experience with her so far showed no signs. With a soft thump she ceased hopping, and instead started wiggling her toes. "I don't ever listen to boring people, don't _ever_!"

The pale-blue haired, blood-red eyed and snow-white skinned girl before him was called Jinx. At least that was what he'd been told in the memo. He'd told her that the name sounded weird, but she quickly pointed out that he was going around toting the name "Graves", and he promptly declared "touché".

He wasn't actually sure who this girl was, but a friend of a friend had request that he keep her safe. Graves sometimes wondered if she had baddies or men with guns hot on her heels, while at other times he considered if he was keeping her safe from her own _stupidity_ rather than others. Still, he had his code to abide to – "I scratch your back, you stick a knife in mine" seemed to be the most appropriate phrase to coin.

Graves took a moment to tip a few drops of grey into his stained glass ashtray. He'd counted twelve cigarettes in his coat's breast pocket; barely enough to last a few _seconds _talking to Jinx, let alone interacting with her. "So whadda ya want?" he asked non-committedly, checking his matches for snapped sticks. "What's wrong with you, lady?"

"Durr, I told you!" she muttered, mimicking his drawl in a manner that made it sound thicker than the offspring of Demacian royalty and your average pirate from Bilgewater. "You done gone and didn't listen is all! Hurrr…"

He drew on his smoke. "I don't sound like that."

She blew a raspberry at him. "Do _too_, old guy!"

"No." he repeated stubbornly, pretty adamant on the point despite his monotone. Maybe it was because everyone did it when they spoke to him, but trying to mock his accent was the perfect way to get on his tits. "I don't."

"Do!"

"Don't."

"Do!"

"Don't."

"… Don't?"

"Don't."

Jinx fumed grumpily, her attention quickly darting elsewhere in defeat. The young woman skipped about the office inspecting numerous shiny ornaments, no doubt causing thousands of gold worth of damage in her wake. Graves double-checked his fags with a rustle out of anxiety, before kicking his legs up and placing them atop the dark ebony of his desk. It wasn't even worth trying anymore – he couldn't write when she was on a rampage.

"Hey." He called. This was followed by the sound of shattering china, and the sight of a forced, sheepish grin. He ignored her and fidgeted for comfort; he was getting too old for this. "Honestly, what's up? I'm all ears."

She paused for a moment, before holding a long whining note. It sounded a little like a boiling kettle, only 20% more irritating. Stomping a booted foot, the cheeky minx huffed airily. "I'm _booooooored_!"

_Evidently._

Graves tilted his head, a thought coming to mind. It was less likely than finding a needle in a stack of needles, but it was worth a shot. "Say" he began, "If you're bored, you could help me here."

Jinx froze for a moment; an achingly long moment, like the pause after someone declares that they have a fetish for oranges. Her mouth agape, she suddenly spoke up. "… I'm actually _hungryyyyyyy_!"

The man slapped his forehead with the flat of his palm, recalling that you were more likely to dodge torrential rain showers than to urge someone like Jinx to work. He glanced at her dangerously nay _unhealthily_ thin frame, and wondered if she could be telling the truth – crazy people tended to have fast metabolisms after all. "Hungry? You ate less than an hour ago."

_A Builder's Breakfast, he'd put a lot of effort into it._

"Weeellll… More like _ten_ minutes actually." Jinx admitted, picking at her bone-blank canines. After a moment she produced what appeared to be a chunk of chicken larger than her ego from her maw, and gulped it down. "I had lunch on the way here so I wouldn't be _too_ hungry, get it?"

"No." Graves grumbled, fixing his collar.

"Tough." She replied, her perpetual grin switching to a judgemental frown for the teens of a second's life-span. With the grace of a rabbit skipping through a meadow on fire she fell to her knees, resting her chin on the desk and rapping her fingers to an incessant beat. "Come _oooonnnn_!"

Shrugging his shoulders neutrally, Graves reached past his boomstick and pulled out a squeaky-wheeled draw. It was painfully tempting to suck on the gun's freezing barrel and end it all right there, but he wasn't willing to pay the cleaning bill; blood tended not to dry clean, he'd learnt that the _hard_ way. After a moment of fishing under the cat-like gaze of the girl, he pulled out a little snack that he tended to stock up on.

"Chocolate?" she asked, stating the obvious. He wiggled the bar at her like a housewife shaking a rolled up newspaper at their dog, and she promptly snatched it from him and got to work. Graves always had a spare bar of chocolate on hand, even whilst in the office - just another weird habit of his. Jinx chuckled loudly, which tended to be a good sign when you gave someone a treat. "Tastes like chocolate, packaging _says_ it's chocolate... Yeah, think this is chocolate."

"Don't be eating that too fast now." Graves advised, although he assumed such advice would be ignored. He'd expected her to be the kind of person to chomp down food in seconds, yet she was being surprisingly slow about this particular bar. Instead she gnawed and nibbled, sucked and licked, and generally savoured the moment as if it were her last. He didn't notice her as she hopped up onto his desk, taking a seat and knocking down a few items in the process - she was _that _quiet when she wanted to be.

_That was mildly terrifying to be honest._

They sat in general silence for around three minutes, the only sounds being the ticking of Grave's novelty time-piece and the gentle chews of the feasting young woman. It was a strangely peaceful atmosphere to behold, even if Jinx seemed to be one bullet short of a rampaging crime-spree at all times. The lady in question held the half eaten chocolate bar between her lips, eying the mantlepiece that sat over the office's fireplace.

"Who's that?" she asked, her voiced muffled. With a brief pause she let the snack fall into her hands and held onto it protectively. "There." she pointed, the mushy bar covering her fingers in sugar and brown. "That your brother?"

Graves followed an outstretched digit and eyed the target she'd marked. The silver-framed photo featured a smiling visage, sitting in front of a warm living room background. "That's my wife."

Jinx swivelled around with unrivalled speed, her red eyes opened wide in shock. Her fingers tapped at her chin, leaving faint chocolate marks on her unblemished white skin. "B-But the _beard_!"

He folded his arms, flushing red in embarrassment. "It ain't no beard!" he tugged at his own chops, quietly yelping as he pulled a few sensitive hairs. "_This _is a damned beard!"

The young lady made a neutral yet acknowledging sound after a moment, before silencing herself with another chomp and nibbling noisily. Graves hadn't actually seen his wife - pardon him, _ex_-wife - for around ten years. She was a kind, beautiful, affectionate dame but she was far too uncomfortable with her husband's life of crime. It was perfectly understandable, and after a few months of discussion they'd agreed on a divorce. That never meant the love was lost - he still felt for her as strongly as he did at the altar. But her comfort was paramount, and it was apparent that he'd become a source of unease rather than safety to her.

_The strangest actions can sometimes be the most loving._

Graves' roll had faded into nothing but a butt, what straggling fumes remained making a slow break for the ceiling. He fished for another, spitting the filter into his ashtray with a subtle sound. Jinx reacted as if she'd tripped a car alarm in a lion's den.

"Oooo..." she cooed, eying his fingers. A stray cigarette sat between his beefy digits, its metaphorical eyes shooting left and right like it'd been caught with its trousers down. Jinx glanced between the two, before huffing sadly. "Hmph, thought those were breadsticks."

He raised an eyebrow, the small brown sausage of hair floating to dizzying heights. His face actually felt sore - he'd never had such extreme expressions before. "I'm _smokin'_ 'em."

"You can _smoke _breadsticks!" she insisted, tugging the cigarette from his gob moments before he lit it. The peculiar girl examined it thoroughly as if it was case-solving evidence, only needing glasses and a lab-coat to look like one of the "boys from the lab". Graves remained frozen in the exact same position with his dwindling match flame, before she finally placed the roll back between his lips and he finished lighting up. "... Just checking."

Graves let out a scoff. It was a manly one; he was quite proud of it. Taking a deep drag, he let the smoke and fog erupt from his lips with a quiet whistle. Strangely enough Jinx remained perched on his desk, her bony posterior no doubt finding the polished would exceptionally comfortable. Filling the void of nibbles and breathing, Graves let his whistle morph into a rough tune. He could've sworn that he saw Jinx pursing her lips to join in, yet no sound emerged as a product of her efforts.

"... Old guuuy." she whined, wiggling the bar of chocolate once again. Three quarters still remained intact, not a single stain or scrape covering its coat. Graves made the mistake of meeting her puppy-dog eyes directly, her rose-red stare wobbling in welling tears. "... I'm bored."

"Yeah." he replied, flicking some ash. It was a mechanical action with him - if someone moved his ashtray, he'd still tap his fags at the exact same place. The man rested the long roll on the edge of the tray, a thin trail of smoke billowing from its tip. "Figured as much."

Jinx thought for a moment, her heels hammering against the table's front and sending almost tectonic vibrations through its frame. Her fingers looped and curled at her twin locks, the tails whipping around as if on rotorblades. He'd never say it out loud, but he thought they looked very nice on her. "... Want some chocolate?" she waved the drool coated snack at him obliviously. "Isn't poisoned or anything, I checked that a couple of times."

"Naw." he groaned, hauling himself from his chair with creaky knees. Maybe he'd been doing too much office work, because his body had been becoming increasingly stiff and uncooperative recently. Nothing was more awkward than not being able to reach a pen in a draw because your wrist can't flex anymore, especially when in desperate need. "You can keep that." he continued, performing his usual ritual; twist the neck, the ankles, the hands and then hop. He wandered over to the mantlepiece and tapped at its solid shelf, the collection of photos and trinkets inhabiting the countertop remaining motionless under their blanket of dust. Graves felt the floorboards creak.

_Jinx had appeared right next to him._

She pointed at another photo, having finally started chewing on a chunk of her chocolate. "Who's that?"

"Taric." he replied. Jinx continued to chew loudly, before gulping down the first bit of the day. "You know him?"

"Yeah, he's weird." she said bluntly, licking her brown coated fingers. She was making a total mess, yet she didn't even seem to notice. "I think he has a Yordle fetish."

_Well, he didn't see that comment coming._

Another small finger curled outwards, damp after a thorough licking. Jinx hopped on the spot to try and reach the photo, but she was far too short to do so. Graves plucked the photograph from its stage and held it out to her - like hell she'd touch them with more chocolate on her hands than students at a school fayre after dark.

"Your mum?" she guessed, wiping her wet fingers against her chest. Graves let his nostrils flare, and she tried again. "... Dad?"

"Dog." he announced, which came as a complete surprise for her. He pointed at the creature's large floppy ears and fluffy tail, as well as the bone-shaped collar around its neck. Jinx's reaction was delayed in its glory, yet she quickly alternated from a bored and dull monotone to a smiling glow of glee. "You like him?"

"I'd pet him!" she revealed, cuddling herself and swaying about in that weird way women did when they were daydreaming about princes, or rainbows, or whatever girls were into nowadays. Jinx cocked her leg enthusiastically "and then we'd go skiing, and maybe I could get him a suit!"

"A suit?"

"Bitches dig the suit." Jinx informed, enthusiasm dropping faster than the conversation at a family reunion. Wiping her finger against Graves' arm, she managed to snatch another photo from the mantle. She examined it up close, a chorus of "hmmm"'s and "ahhhhh"'s acting as the backing tune to her tense test. "... Your wife?"

Graves looked at the photo. "... Me."

"You're your _own_ wife?"

"No." he sighed, licking his lips in frustration. He was certain that she acted like this on purpose, but a fragment of his mind worried that she really was this confused. "You've just mistaken me for her, is all."

"Oh." she let out; a mere sound and nothing more. She then grumbled, prodding a finger at the photograph and replacing dust with a smudge. "That can't be right. Who's this tall guy then, your uncle?"

Once again Graves glanced at the photo, the office's light glaring off the glass panel shielding the old parchment from the outside world. He frowned, pointing at the man to make sure. Jinx nodded, and he answered. "Twisted Fate."

Jinx giggled girlishly, pointing at the man herself. "You thought _Jinx _was a dumb name? 'Hurrr, hi there! Twisted Fate, durrr nice to meet you!' " she laughed again, in bitter contrast to the burly outlaw besides her. "Woo... Man, I'm writing that one down." after a moment she clicked her fingers, yet her damp tips produced no snap. "Oh! Who's he then?"

Graves rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, no doubt reluctant to dispense his knowledge. As much as he'd convinced himself that he'd moved on from the Card Master, the man's actions had caused him a lot of heartache. That uncontrollable rage in his heart still simmered, waiting for the heat to return. He glanced at Jinx, then at the photo, then back to Jinx, and finally settled on the image. "Guy I used to work with." he grumbled. Jinx held her chocolate bar on stand-by, staring at the image alongside him. "A few years ago, some _things_ happened I'd rather forget." he gently pried the photo from her tiny hands and placed it back in its rightful place. "We ain't friends no more."

"Did he do something bad?" she asked, her tone surprisingly concerned. Well, as concerned as it could be considering its high up-beat tune. "Like, eat your snacks? That'd _really_ get on my nerves."

Graves shook his head, partially in response to her question but mainly in reply to the stupidity and ridiculousness of her comment. "He betrayed my trust, is all." he turned to make for his desk, reaching for his ever burning cigarette. "... And he never got it back."

_Smoke span its webs through the misty air._

_Like the steam of rage, surrounding them in its embrace._

The large man tugged at his collar and fiddled with his tie for what must've been the fourth time in the past two minutes. He could practically feel Jinx mulling over his words, trying – and probably failing – to visualise the fragments of his past. As Graves pressed the blackened filter upon the dirtied ashtray, twisting and turning with a flick of his stiff wrist, Jinx finally called out. "… So why the photo, old guy?"

He continued pushing the charred butt down, begging for anything to keep him occupied. "The photo?" he said, momentarily confused by her words. "The one there?" he pointed at the offending image.

"Yeah, Twisted Twerp." She confirmed, scratching at the man's goofy hat and making a _second _grimy smudge. She tapped her nail against the scratched glass casing. "You don't like him, so why do you have a photo of him?"

_She had a point there._

Graves leant against the stable black counter behind him, resting his gloved palms against its edge for balance. Jinx extended the photo, making sure that he could see it. The younger Twisted Fate looked back at him, that smug grin of his filling Graves with a mixture of different emotions. To the lanky man's side was a slightly shorter but much more muscular fellow - himself, back when he was a bit of a looker. His hair was slick, his jaw angular, and his evenly cut stubble was forming the first baby steps of his eventual masculine chops.

His arm was around his ex-colleague's far shoulder; a manly and friendly hold symbolising their friendship. The two of them were wanted men in the backwaters of Bilgewater, but they knew that they could stand firm against the threat of the baddies together - two men against the world. A keen eye could spot the splinted leg of the Card Master, as well as the mangled and contorted fist that was draped over his back.

_Fate had kicked a tosser off the outlaw's back, and Graves'd punched a wanker square in the jaw when he tried to pull the card shark down._

The Outlaw took the photo from Jinx's outstretched hand, surveying it with hidden fascination. Rather than skip about and break a few things, the girl simply stood in wait. She didn't even fidget in place, the remains of her chocolate bar remaining between her loose fingers. Graves sighed, shaking his head. "_Why_?" he echoed, flaring his nostrils. He placed the photograph back on the mantle, making sure it was perfectly in line with the dust that had settled across the aged wood. "... Guess in the end... I wanna trust him again, wanna... Forgive him."

Jinx shrugged her shoulders, engaging her chocolate mano-a-mano in combat. "Do it then, duh."

Saying he was caught off guard was an understatement, judging from how he stumbled for balance. He did his best to make it look like he was making to lean against the mantle, but Jinx didn't seem convinced. His jaw hung open ever so slightly, an uncertain sound gurgling from his throat until he finally found his voice. "Excuse me?"

"You're the one who's all worked up about it." she reminded, speaking with her mouth full. She was right in a way - most of the time Twisted Fate didn't seem interested in him at all, be they fighting together or apart on the Summoner's Rift. What Graves saw as arrogance and taunting words weren't meant to agitate him, rather they were signs of advice. The Card Master wanted to move on, and all he did in response was pursue him to the ends of the earth. Jinx grumbled, licking her thumb. "He's a twerp, but you're the one who chooses in the end. Yeah?"

Graves frowned tightly, unconvinced. Even if you considered that, it didn't change what had happened. Twisted Fate had ruined almost a decade of his life, letting him rot in Zaun's most dangerous prison just so he could get his hands on his own loot. He'd been used as a means to an end by someone who had sworn camaraderie to him, yet he was expected to _forgive _him? "He hurt me a lot, lady."

"Pain is _temporary_, victory is _forever_!" Jinx declared heroically, extending her snack like the blade of a knight in the shiniest of armour. After a brief pause, she lowered her tool of destruction before promptly biting again. "... Some weirdo said that, I thought it sounded awesome." she admitted, to which Graves nodded. A moment of silence, before she clicked and recalled what she was saying "You got better, didn't you?"

Maybe she was right. He'd been through hell and back; seen the movie, got the t-shirt, and with that experience he'd gotten to where he was now. Arguably, what he witnessed in Zaun readied him for the task of gathering his own batch of boys. He'd felt agony, yet he'd met his reward. Graves was past Twisted Fate now, he had no reason to involve himself with the man at all save for his foolish vendetta.

_"Who's the more foolish, the fool or the fool who follows him?"_

Graves remained silent, resting his elbow against the counter. The outlaw just didn't really know what to say to that, and simply eyed the collection of photographs that gave the room some colour. Twisted Fate, his wife, hell even his _dog _were past him now. He didn't need to dwell; none of _them_ did, that's for certain. He was jerked back from his day-dreams by a loud snap, before a chunk of brown was waved in front of his nose. Jinx stood on her tip-toes, offering a bit of chocolate to him again. Graves waved his hand in denial, but she promptly took a hop and pitched it into his mouth - a bullseye.

"I won't take no for an answer, old man!" she pouted, circling him and leaping for his deskchair like a pridestalker jumping an alcoholic samurai. It rolled back and revolved quickly, forcing her to hold on in her knelt position. Graves chewed and watched with no lack of amusement as she clutched onto the chair's back, her eyes swirling in dizziness as it rebounded off a wall and ended up in its original position. "Wooo!"

Graves made his way to the desk and leant against it once more, letting the girl have her fun for the moment. He folded his arms in thought, feeling her booted toes tapping against the wood rapidly. It was a strangely relaxing beat, so it caught him out of his zen when it came to a sudden stop.

"What's _this_?" she cooed enthusiastically. Graves turned around quickly enough to spot her diving under the desk in an action roll befitting of a Crimson Elite, appearing a few seconds later with a large heap of brass and iron cradled in her hands. She practically purred like a kitten, gazing down at it in wonder. "Oooo, is this what I think it might be _possibly_?"

"_Easy_ there." Graves warned, holding up a hand placatively. She purposefully pointed the barrel of the unloaded weapon at him, it being almost as big as her. "That ain't a toy."

"Pffft, it _totally_ is." she chuckled, turning it over in her hands. Her trained eye scanned every single component of the hextech shotgun, finding it fascinating in its make-shift design. "Say... What're the specs on this beauty?"

The man beckoned her to hand the weapon over, which she did without question. He hauled his old friend up, bending his knees to a crouch and leaning it against his hip. Destiny had been by his side since the early days, and he knew more about it than he knew about _himself. _Cracking it open he unscrewed its many pistons and components, Jinx's stare unwavering as he disassembled the boomstick in record time. "That there's a wonder, _never_ slacks or breaks. Damn well dependable."

Jinx either slipped or hopped off the chair, but either way she scrambled across the floor and knelt next to him. He removed a part and handed it over to her, allowing her to weigh and examine it in more detail. She whistled, letting a shined shard of brass glisten under the lamplight. "_Wow_... Say, old guy..." she began, reaching over for another part and giving it a once-over. "... Could you tell me more?"

"Sure I can." Graves nodded, resting the full length of Destiny across the both of their laps. He spent the next hour going over every single component he knew about, from cogs to springs to ammunition to where the materials came from. He noticed it after the first twenty minutes; Jinx was totally engrossed in the topic. What was left of her chocolate still sat atop his desk, her fingers too busy caressing the hand-carved frame of the shotgun. If her eyes weren't fixed on the iron, they were raised to meet the grit - her firm crimsons staring at his browns, begging for him to teach her more of his profound knowledge.

He could remember what she said when she barged into his office hours prior, causing a total racket and disrupting his thin veil of piece. Bursting through the door, strutting her stuff, her boots pounding against the floor panelling and carpet.

"_I don't ever listen to boring people, don't ever!"_

If you asked her now, she'd say she hadn't broken that simple promise.

Not at all.

X

_(A/N): Ugh..._

_Just... Ugh... _

_Another case of an idea that falls apart. That sucks aplenty, but meh. Hope you enjoyed :P_


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